[ Operation Distraction is a success. Rey's eyes light wide when his finger slides in because it catches her off guard and suddenly his finger is in her, finding a steady rhythm. Soaked as she is, it goes in easy. She's never been this slick before. She can feel it smearing across her thighs, dripping along the curve of her ass as the pumping motion of his finger drags some of it free.
She's flushed — embarrassment and hunger alike at war within her. Reason tells her that he wants this, and she can feel through the haze of her own pleasure that he's aching for this, but she can't understand. She can't understand why. She's nothing. Surely he'll see something he doesn't like as she opens herself to him, but not yet.
His finger is thicker than hers. She hasn't acted yet on the impulse to find the handle of one of her tools and press it inside, though she has ached for something bigger than the one finger she has been bold enough to slip in. Now she wishes she had. It feels so good. Not just intrusive, not filling a space that already existed as her finger did, but stretching that space. Her body sings for him.
The sheet between her teeth quiets the sound she makes — it's a groan in the back of her throat, muffled by the ball of fabric she was right to gag herself with. She bites down on it, harder, and starts rocking her hips to encourage his rhythm, to grind herself into the attention of his thumb just right.
Something sparks within her as his finger curls. From what had felt like an odd kind of exploration on his part at first suddenly blooms a new kind of heat. Yes, yes, yes, begs her brain. Her hips swivel, angle, trying to get him there again. She nods her head urgently, afraid to make more sound, but visibly choked up and overwhelmed and still desperate, ragged, silently begging for more of this with her dark, shining eyes. ]
eats them slowly
She's flushed — embarrassment and hunger alike at war within her. Reason tells her that he wants this, and she can feel through the haze of her own pleasure that he's aching for this, but she can't understand. She can't understand why. She's nothing. Surely he'll see something he doesn't like as she opens herself to him, but not yet.
His finger is thicker than hers. She hasn't acted yet on the impulse to find the handle of one of her tools and press it inside, though she has ached for something bigger than the one finger she has been bold enough to slip in. Now she wishes she had. It feels so good. Not just intrusive, not filling a space that already existed as her finger did, but stretching that space. Her body sings for him.
The sheet between her teeth quiets the sound she makes — it's a groan in the back of her throat, muffled by the ball of fabric she was right to gag herself with. She bites down on it, harder, and starts rocking her hips to encourage his rhythm, to grind herself into the attention of his thumb just right.
Something sparks within her as his finger curls. From what had felt like an odd kind of exploration on his part at first suddenly blooms a new kind of heat. Yes, yes, yes, begs her brain. Her hips swivel, angle, trying to get him there again. She nods her head urgently, afraid to make more sound, but visibly choked up and overwhelmed and still desperate, ragged, silently begging for more of this with her dark, shining eyes. ]